Stories

A lady stands encircled by the flickering lights of faux candles in a darkened box theatre past midnight. Third in line and following two named and known performers, she waits patiently as her mic stand is being fixed, barefoot, she is elegant, graceful, lithe and pixie looking. Long fingers, long neck. Sharp nose, delicate eyes and a delicate face. She is mesmerizing. A scarf gracefully encircles her black-clad frame much as theatre performers dress, with the goal of not distracting from expressions and voices.

Taking the time given, she raises all 10 fingers of her hand, telling us that we are going to make it rain. Intrigued my first thought is, voodoo? Rain dance? Before embarrassingly, begin to clap. One finger against a palm. Two fingers against a palm. Three and four fingers against a palm. The box theatre echoes to the rhythmically flawed pitter patter of fingers on palm much like the droplets of scattering rain and I begin to be aware and delight in the aural sounds emanating from such a simple exercise. The men are ordered to stomp their right feet and thunder is then produced before the dying droplets echo and we return to silence.

She follows the rain with an interlude of an old tale. That of a sick grandmother, a loaf of bread and a hunters daughter. Ending doesn’t quite follow the tales of yore though, a rather Maleficent twist-Game of Thrones ends up being the conclusion of this prelude before she launches into the final tale of the night. No reading from the sheets of paper or ipad for this one, no, everything in her mind. Hands fluttering to convey the sense of a Moghul’s palace bedecked for a wedding ceremony, hands slitting a throat and hands riding a horse. Hands graceful as a traditional Indian dancers, voice as elegant and expressions as beautiful.

I am intrigued and inspired, storytelling has been elevated to a level I have never seen before and reminds me yet again how intertwined the arts are, between visuals, aural, rhythm, imagination. Between stories, dance, music and writing. The arts may often be cast aside in favour of their less imaginative counterparts, the math, the sciences and the facts, but nothing can grab your imagination more than the beauty of a simple rhythm, the swoop of a silk clad, heel shod boleo or the sounds of a voice telling you a beautiful. Story.